


Second Chances

by MissMR



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, I'll add more characters when they come in, a bit of grouchy bellamy, slight enemies, trainwreck clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMR/pseuds/MissMR
Summary: Nothing seems to be going right for Clarke. She graduated from art school and can't find any work, so she's been working in a garden shop for the past couple of years. But things seem to change for her when she meets the Blake siblings.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19
Collections: Bellarke January Joy 2021





	Second Chances

Clarke’s head was already pounding, and she hadn’t even opened her eyes. If she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t even sure where she was. There was a bar and a few too many beers mixed with too many shots and a hot bartender serving them, and she was pretty sure she closed out the bar to go home with said bartender—to have great sex but to also have a place to sleep for the night.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she pushes herself up and against the wall, holding the bedsheet to her bare chest, and the movement only made the throbbing in her head all that much worse. She waited for the room to stop spinning to search for her phone, to find it laying on the bedside table on top of a note she was assuming was meant for her.

_I tried to wake you but you were out cold and I had work.  
But I had a lot of fun last night maybe we could do it again.  
-Niylah_

So, that what was her name.

Niylah had scribbled her number under her name, and Clarke knew she wouldn’t call. Not unless she was desperate for a place to sleep. She tried to be as detached from people as possible. It wasn’t always like that, but after she lost more than a piece of herself, it seemed like it was the easiest way to go through life. Before she could harp on it too much, she cleaned herself up in the bathroom and said an awkward goodbye to the back of whom she assumed was Niylah’s roommate and hurried out the door in hopes of making it to work on time, even though Clarke was pretty sure she was going to be late.

* * *

Clarke pushes her way through the crowded sidewalk, tugging along her suitcase. The painting she had done of the starry night was beginning to chip, and she would have to find a time to redo. Although, it wouldn’t fix the problem considering it was probably chipping so much because she was constantly on the move and living out of it, but there was no way she was going to call her mom and go home. This, moving from one friend’s couch to another (although she had quickly burned through that list), or sleeping with one stranger to another, was the only way she could be free to do whatever she wanted, even if it wasn’t the best for her. It was better than being smothered by Abagail Griffin. She loved her mom, but enough was enough.

Once Vera’s Garden, her place of employment, was in view, she slowed her pace. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her job, it’s just sometimes Clarke wished she was doing something else with her life. Something to do with her art degree that she fought so hard with her mom about. With a heavy sigh, she took the last few steps leading to the entrance.

The bells rang out as soon as Clarke opened the door, and Clarke immediately called out, “Sorry, I’m late,” and scurried to the back to hide her suitcase and make herself a little less disheveled before Vera offered for the umpteenth time her spare bedroom.

“Goodmorning, Clarke,” Vera said. Her voice was chirper the way it always was.

There was a time when Vera’s cheerful personality made Clarke fill with warmth, and being within Vera’s vicinity was a sure way to brighten anyone’s day, but something changed, a lot changed, and Clarke had to roll her eyes before turning around to face her boss.

“Hey, Vera. I’m sorry for being late.”

Vera waved her arm, the way she always did. “At least you made it in. There isn’t much to do today. Some of the plants need to be watered, and there are probably some stems that need to be trimmed.”

There were a couple more things Vera listed off for Clarke to do, but even before she finished, Clarke knew today she would have a lot of free time, the way most days did, which was good because it gave Clarke time to look through her portfolio before her interview she had later today. 

Sometimes Clarke wasn’t sure how she even got the job. She knew nothing of plants and lacked a green thumb. The proof was in the dozens of plants she tried to care for only to have them die in a week or two, but she happened to stopped in the shop day because it had been pouring outside, and it was the closest place that was open. She and Vera had a two minute conversation that included small talk and jokes and laughs, and it somehow ended with Clarke mentioning needing a job and Vera needing help, and by the end, Clarke was leaving that day employed.

That was nearly two years ago, and Clarke had fallen into a comfortable pattern and had no plans to change anything, not after the past year, so she went on with Vera’s list and held friendly conversations with the people that came in. Clarke may not have been the best at her job, but Vera said she had a way with people that Clarke definitely had her mom to thank for and the many cotillion classes she had and the endless galas she was forced to attend growing up that included schmoozing with people. But her favorite part of her job was the holiday season, not because of the decorations Vera put around the shop, but it was because she’d ask Clarke to paint the windows in whatever she thought was fit.

Like this year, Clarke painted the windows yesterday to look like a winter wonderland with a cabin in the foreground with a snowman in the front yard, and a deer peeking out from behind a tree. It had taken her hours, but the smile that Vera flashed her way once it was done was rewarding enough.

“Wow.” Clarke looked up from the plants in the front of the shop and saw a woman standing in front of the window, staring at the mural. “This is beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Clarke said.

“You painted this?” the woman asked, and Clarke nodded.

Clarke watched as the woman cast one last glance at the window before turning to give Clarke her full attention. “I’m Octavia Blake,” she said and held out her hand.

“Clarke Griffin,” Clarke said as she took the hand in hers.

“It was nice meeting you, Clarke Griffin. I’ll be seeing you around.” Octavia smiled one last time before she let go of her hand and turned to walk away, and Clarke watched as her long brown hair sway side to side with each step she took, and for a second, Clarke chastised herself for not asking for her number before she continued with the rest of her task.

* * *

Around 3 o’clock, Clarke had posted herself on the stool behind the front counter lost in her sketchpad. She couldn’t remember the last time she finished anything she started drawing, but she never missed an opportunity to draw. Vera had left for the day, and Clarke had just secured herself a place to sleep in Well’s spare room, so Clarke decided to kill the remaining hours of her shift the only way she knew how. Maybe she should be finalizing her portfolio, but she didn’t have the time to obsess over little details, the way she knew she would, because that was a whole day process.

Without knowing, hours had gone by, and she would have still been sketching her dad’s face had her alarm not gone off. She didn’t have time to see if she got the wrinkles around his eyes correct or if she captured the essence of his smirk. She probably wouldn’t even check later to see if she did. It would just remain amongst the many unfinished drawings in her sketchpad.

Clarke shoved her things away in her tote bag and made her way to the back to shuffle through her suitcase for her blazer. She pulled out her portfolio folder from the bottom of all her clothes and did a quick flip through before dashing out the front door.

This interview has to go well. It just had to.

She had been in such a hurry that she didn’t see the person standing directly in her path and ran right into them, stumbling back.

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke immediately said before her eyes settled on the person. “Octavia?”

“I told you I’d be seeing you around.” Octavia smiled, and it was warm and friendly, and Clarke couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. “You in a rush to get somewhere?”

“Yeah. Eligius. I have an interview.”

Octavia stepped to the side opening the path for Clarke to walk by. “Well, don’t let me hold you back. Better yet, why don’t I walk with you? I don’t have anywhere to be right now.”

Clarke was tempted to tell her no. It was on the tip of her tongue in fact. People like to talk while they walk, and she didn’t know Octavia. They had literally met today and have had no significant conversation besides the sharing of names, first and last, but Clarke felt something around Octavia that she couldn’t understand. It was there within the seconds of seeing Octavia, with Octavia staring at Clarke’s mural or the smile Octavia flashed. Clarke had no explanation. At first, she thought it was infatuation. No one would blame her considering Octavia was gorgeous, with long brown locks that complimented her fair skin and green eyes. There was no doubt people were attracted to her, but now, standing in front of her, Clarke felt connected. And her dad was one to tell her sometimes people are put in our lives for a reason.

Although, he did tell her this after finding out her high school boyfriend cheated on her, and she never found the reason why Finn was put in her life, but still those words were said by her dad, and everything connected to her dad Clarke kept close to her heart, especially now that was all she had of him.

So, Clarke said, “sure.”

And, she was wrong. Octavia didn’t talk as they walked the blocks to Eligius. She wondered if Octavia felt the nerves rolling off her because she was sure they were, or maybe she felt the reluctance Clarke radiated of letting people in her life. Either way, Clarke appreciated the company and the silence.

The silence allowed her to go over the selling points of herself. Eligius was looking for a new logo, and Clarke had a brief conversation with Diyoza, the CEO of Eligius, and there was also the possibility of a full-time position as creative director depending on how everything went. It definitely felt like more pressure, and even though Clarke told herself she wouldn’t quick until she found something that allowed her to express herself through her artwork, other than the holiday murals at Vera’s Garden, there was only so much rejection a person can take, and Clarke felt like she was reaching her limit.

Once they reached outside, Clarke stopped a few feet from the entrance. Her heart was racing, her palms were sweating, and her portfolio felt heavy in her arms. For the first time, she felt unsure of herself and her artwork. There weren’t many changes she made from the last failed interview she had, but she wasn’t exactly sure what it was that needed to be changed because all they ever told her was, “it’s just not what we’re looking for at the moment.”

No notes on what to change, or what to add, or to take out, no anything. And maybe the changes she made were the wrong changes, and she was scared this rejection, if it was going to be a rejection, would be the one to send her over the edge.

“You got this.”

Clarke looked at Octavia and nodded. “I got this,” Clarke repeated. “Do, do you think you could watch my suitcase?” Clarke asked, and Octavia looked like she was ready to object, but Clarke couldn’t let her. She knew how she looked to some of her potential employers lugging around a suitcase that she lived out of, and maybe that played a part in her being turned down. She was sure it was as a number of people have often clocked it before even looking at her.

“I’m sure there’s a lobby you can wait in so you wouldn’t have to stay out here in the cold.”

Octavia sighed just as she pursed her lips together. “Fine, but in the lobby. It’s freezing out here.”

* * *

It took almost thirty minutes for Diyoza to let her down, but unlike the others, she gave her reasons as to why she couldn’t pick Clarke, and the words still rang in her head as Clarke rode the elevator down the lobby.

“I think you’re talented, but there’s no emotion,” Diyoza had said. “Artwork is meant to make people feel something, and perfect outlines and shading don’t do that. From your portfolio, I know you’re capable of presenting a logo that could work, but it would be no different than any other company. I’m looking for something that’ll stand out, and this,” she had signaled to Clarke’s artwork, “doesn’t show me you can do that.”

The elevator jerked to a stop and _dinged_ , and Clarke wanted to curl up on Wells' couch with a bottle of wine to drown out her sorrows.

She doesn’t understand how her artwork lacked emotions when sometimes Clarke felt like she was feeling too much. They weren't always the most positive feelings that she let herself feel, but it was something, but apparently none of that was translating to her work.

When she got to the lobby, Octavia wasn’t there, but her suitcase was. She wasn’t sure why she thought Octavia would stay. They were strangers to one another, but there was a twinge of disappointment when she saw her suitcase sitting alone in the corner of the lobby.

But then she walked outside, and the cold winter air touched her skin, and there Octavia was leaning against the building with a cigarette between her lips.

“Hey. Sorry, I had to step out,” Octavia said as she pushed herself off the building. “I know. It’s a bad habit,” she continued to say then lifted her foot and stubbed out the cigarette on the bottom of her boot. “So, how’d it go?”

Clarke shrugged. “Like I expected it go. Maybe I should just quit.”

“Why? Because you haven’t had any luck? You can’t just give up because it’s hard. You’ll find something that was meant for you, but not if you quit. Sure, take some time, but don’t just stop.”

Clarke lifted her tote bag higher on her shoulder and adjusted her hold on her portfolio. “You don’t even know me. I might just be a really horrible artist.”

“Maybe, but I’m betting you aren’t.” Octavia took keys out from her black leather jacket pocket and twirled them around. “How about this? Tonight, we meet at Wonkru. Do you know it?”

Clarke nodded. She wasn’t going to admit that she was just there last night.

“Okay, so why don’t we meet there? Have a drink, or two, or however many you want, and have a pity party for you. I could use a drink.”

Clarke didn’t need time to think it over. A drink sounded nice, and she told Octavia as such.

“Great. I’ll meet you there. 8. Now, I gotta get back to my bike.”

“Bike?”

“Yeah. My brother hated I chose a motorcycle of all transportations, but it’s one less fear I have. We gotta face our fears, Clarke. Anyways, tonight Wonkru, 8 o’clock.”

* * *

When Clarke had gotten to Wells’ apartment, he wasn’t home, and she hated that she felt relieved. It wasn’t that she wanted to avoid him, but for the past year, she might have been avoiding him along with everyone else. It felt wrong to categorize him with everyone—Roan because he was a dick but they bonded over bitching about their parents, Anya because she was a little heartless but gave the tough love Clarke needed but didn’t want, and Josephine because she wasn’t really a friend but was the type of person that was best to have in your corner. Wells was her best and oldest friend, and his reasons for being overbearing as of late were very much valid, but that didn’t mean she had to like it or listen to everything he said.

So, when 7:30 was approaching, and he still hadn’t shown up, Clarke was happy that she didn’t have to come up with some excuse of where she was going because if he knew she was going to a bar, he would have definitely tagged along and monitored the number of drinks she had, and Octavia said tonight could be a pity party, so a pity party it shall be. 

Clarke walked into Wonkru for the second night in a row and made her way to the bar top to wait for Octavia, ordering whatever they had on tap. Waiting there, Clarke realized she should have asked Octavia for her number, not to send a flirty text but to confirm their plans and ask where she was because it was now approaching 8:18, and Octavia was nowhere to be seen. It was the first time Clarke seem to put any blind faith in someone, and it also seemed to look like Octavia was blowing her off.

Downing her third shot of the night, chased with her third beer of the night, was when someone spoke to Clarke, and this woman was beautiful. Her hair was in a slick ponytail that only someone with confidence could pull off, and her brown eyes showed nothing less than fierceness, and if that wasn’t enough, she wore a red bomber jacket that complimented her red lips.

“Is there a reason for such a celebration?” the woman had asked, and Clarke must have looked confused to her because she continued with, “I’ve, well, we’ve,” she gestured to one of the larger booths in the corner, “been watching you, and you’ve been tossing drinks back for the last hour. So, I guess the question shouldn’t be what are you celebrating, it should be what are drinking to forget?”

“Oh nothing,” Clarke said. “Except for the fact that no one wants to hire me, and I’ll be stuck working in a little old lady’s garden shop until I die, which may possibly be soon.” Clarke lifted her beer in a salute before chugging the rest of her beer. “And with that, I need another.”

Before Clarke could signal for the bartender, the woman did. “Hey, Luna. Can I get another beer for—”

She looked at Clarke, and Clarke guessed to give her name, but before she could, the bartender did which made Clarke shift in her seat and before Clarke could ask how she knew that, the bartender once again answered without being asked.

“You went home with Niylah last night,” Luna stated. “I’m her roommate. I actually thought you were looking for her. She’s not working tonight, but I wanted to see how long you would wait around. I gotta say, an hour, pretty impressive.”

Both of the women laughed, and Clarke awkwardly laughed along before clearing her throat. She didn’t like the implication she was waiting for anybody.

“Actually, I was waiting for a friend, I guess. We were supposed to drink our wallows away, but it looks like she’s a no show. And, can you not tell Niylah I was here. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

Clarke decided to ignore Luna’s hardening gaze, but she was sure she told Niylah it was a one-off and nothing more. Relationships weren’t for her, not when she didn’t feel like herself. Clarke reached for her glass only to remember it was empty.

“Can I get another beer and shot?”

“And, can I get a round of shots for the table too?” the woman in red added.

Luna nodded and turned around grabbing glassed.

“I’m Raven by the way,” Raven said and slid onto the stool next to Clarke.

“Clarke.”

Clarke half expected Raven to invite her back to the table because why else would she and her friends have spent a chunk of time watching her or why would Raven have said anything to her to begin with, but then Luna was placing a tray of shots in front of Raven, and Raven flashed a smile and walked away with the shots and no invitation, and Clarke let herself slouch in response.

The thirty minutes that followed Clarke managed to drink one more shot and a beer and a half before calling it a night. She would have stayed longer had she not had a place to stay, but the need to go home with someone was one less thing to worry about, so she drank the last of her beer, placed a few bills on the bar top, and stood up only to wobble on her feet.

Hands reached out to steady her and a voice rumbled to her to be careful, but the words weren’t said with kindness but rather disdain, so she yanked herself out of their hold and stumbled into the bar top.

“I was just trying to help you,” the person had said.

“Yeah, well I don’t need your help,” Clarke grumbled.

When she finally looked up, she saw a grumpy looking man staring her down. She felt small under his stare, like she was doing something wrong when all she was doing was sitting alone in a bar enjoying one too many drinks, but even under the man’s scrutinizing stare, Clarke took into account how attractive he was. His eyes were brown and intense, his hair dark and curly, and his face handsome and splattered with freckles.

Clarke shook her head, trying to gain back some composer, but there was a ridiculously good-looking man in front of her and alcohol flowing through her system, and it felt impossible. She tried to push herself off the bar top counter and head towards the exit, only to trip over her own feet and into the arms of the man. She had to walk blocks to Wells’ apartment, and she had no idea how she was going to make it when she could barely walk out of the bar. Clarke hadn’t thought she was that drunk, but apparently, the drinks from the night had decided to hit her just as she decided to take her leave.

“Here, let me help you,” the man said, followed with, “Luna, can you send a round of shots to the table for me?”

Clarke felt him leading her away from the sticky counter, and as soon as they were near the entrance, she felt the cold air rushing in through the open door, cooling her flushed cheeks. Clarke followed the freshness, and once she was outside, she pressed her back against the brick wall, and she relished in the cold touch and leaned her head back with her eyes closed.

“Do you need me to call you a cab or someone to come pick you up?”

Clarke strained her eyes to look at the man without lifting her head. He was standing in front of her, glaring with his arms crossed.

“No cars,” Clarke said as she closes her eyes again.

“Well, how do you propose you get home then?”

Clarke noted the agitation in his voice, but she also didn’t care.

“I just need a minute, and I can walk.”

“By yourself?”

Clarke nodded.

She could call Wells, and she knows he would come, begrudgingly, but he would. There would also be a lecture that came if he had to walk ten blocks, give or take, because he knows she’d refuse to get into his car.

“Let me just call you a cab.”

Clarke’s eyes snapped open, and they locked onto the man’s dark brown eyes. “I said no cars.”

“Fine.” He threw his arms up. “Then give me a number to call, so I can call someone to come meet you.”

“I can do it myself.”

And, to prove her point, Clarke stepped away from the wall and started to walk away. She only made it about three steps before she started to teeter on her feet, and she heard a harsh, “stop,” that made her seize her movement.

She was led back to the wall where she was told to wait, but as soon as the man disappeared back into the bar, Clarke did the opposite of wait and started to head in the direction of Wells’ apartment.

She didn’t know who the man was, but all of a sudden, she was annoyed. Annoyed with the man, whose name she didn’t know, thinking he could tell her what to do. Annoyed with Octavia for bailing on her. Annoyed with Diyoza for telling her that she basically lacked emotions. Mostly, she felt annoyed with herself, but she wasn’t ready to admit that, so she made a point to be annoyed with everything else.

Clarke hadn't even made it down the street when she heard someone shout, “hey!” She turned slightly, wobbling on her feet as she did, when she saw the same man who led her outside, jogging towards her.

“I thought I told you to wait.”

“And I told you I could walk by myself,” Clarke said as she proceeded to walk, and he followed in step.

“Are you always so fucking stubborn or is this just a drunk thing?”

Clarke forwent words and held up a thumbs up.

“I’m Bellamy, by the way. Not that you care.”

“Clarke, and you’re right, I don’t.”

Bellamy huffed, and Clarke stole a glance at him and saw him run his hands through his hair. She was sure he was in a place of vexation, but, again, she didn’t care. It wasn’t like she asked him to walk her. She was capable of making it to Wells’ place on her own. Sure, she probably would have a bruised knee or two, and maybe she would have to tell some creeps to fuck off, but she could make the walk. She’s done it before.

“You know I could be a murderer or something, and I could be leading you somewhere to kill.”

“We’re all gonna die eventually,” Clarke responded.

A breeze blew against them, and Clarke pulled her black coat tighter around herself. Silence enveloped them, but the liveliness from the city made it anything but silent. Clarke could hear cars whizzing by, people laughing and shouting, music somewhere in the distance. Life was going on, but she hadn’t felt alive in a long time.

She only decided to break the silence because she seen a food cart selling bacon wrapped hotdogs and could smell the grilled onions, and at the moment, there was nothing that could smell more heavenly, so she cut right in front of Bellamy and made a beeline towards the food that was already making her mouth water.

Before she ordered, she looked to Bellamy. “Do you want one?” she asked, and Bellamy shook his head, so she ordered herself one.

When her food was handed to her, she was ready to sit down and enjoy the greasy goodness. She could feel the warmth through the paper plate, and it was only a matter of time before the grease started to seep through. So, she sat on the curb on the street, between two cars, and took her first bit which made a moan escape her lips.

“You know that shit is bad you.” She looked up and saw Bellamy looking down at her. He has positioned himself against a light post that was barely a foot away from where she sat.

“But it’s so good.”

Clarke smiled at him and looked away, just as Bellamy smirked, to take another bite.

“Were you really going to walk home alone?”

“Yeah,” she said with a mouth full of food.

He waited a moment before speaking because just as he said, “because you don’t like cars,” Clarke stopped herself from taking another bite.

She pulled the hotdog away from her mouth and settled her eyes on Bellamy. He had his hands deep in his jacket pockets and was avoiding eye contact with her. Clarke wondered if he felt like he crossed a line and had he not looked slightly embarrassed she would have yelled at him. It wasn’t that he crossed a line, because he didn’t know, but alcohol was in her system and sometimes it makes her hypersensitive.

Plus, she lacked the energy, and with Bellamy looking sheepish, it didn’t feel right, so Clarke just nodded.

“It’s just another fifteen minutes from here. I can walk on my own.”

“Yeah, you probably could, but it wouldn’t feel right leaving you.”

“So, you’re gonna wait until I’m done?”

“Yup, then I’m going to make sure you get home okay.”

And, he did wait those ten minutes it took Clarke to finish her food, and he walked her all the way home. Neither one of them spoke to each other. She wasn’t sure why he wasn’t talking, but she felt like she could spill something that held too much meaning. She didn’t want to let something slip that would make her too vulnerable, but there was something about Bellamy that screamed that she could trust him, and it had nothing to do with him not trying anything when she made an easy target with the condition she was in, or the fact that he didn’t even seem remotely upset when Wells accused him of taking advantage of her when they finally reached Wells apartment. It was just Bellamy that radiated someone that would stand in her corner if she was someone important to him, but Clarke didn’t want to overanalyze anything about him because he was a stranger and would stay a stranger, and she made sure of that when she closed Wells’ front door with a quiet thank you and no exchanging of numbers.

* * *

Waking up was just like the morning before, Clarke’s head was pounding—the effect of too much alcohol and not enough water. Light poured into the room, and she knew it was because Wells had come in and drawn open the curtains. He always did things like that to ensure she would wake up early, but she didn’t need to be at work until 10, and she was sure it was nowhere past 8.

She pulled the blanket over her head and was ready to sleep for another hour, but the door was pushed open a little too hard because it slammed into the wall that only made her barrel into the bed more and tighten her hold on the blanket.

“C’mon. Get up, and we can eat the breakfast I made.”

“In a little bit.”

When Clarke didn’t hear Wells urging her up anymore, she relaxed her hold on the blanket only to have it yanked away.

“What the fuck!” Clarke sat up in bed and reached for the blanket, but he held it farther away.

“No. Now, get up. I’ll be in the kitchen with coffee waiting for you.”

He left the room, leaving the door open behind him, and Clarke sat there trying to get her bearings. Her head was still throbbing but not as bad as yesterday, and she was silently thanking the food she ate along with the walk home in the cold air that allowed her to sober up somewhat before passing out.

Clarke rubbed her hands against her face and sighed, and with much disinclination, she dragged herself out of bed and followed Wells to the kitchen. She was expecting to see bacon, toast, and eggs waiting on a plate for her. It was always the same breakfast Wells cooked, but there was no smell of fatty bacon or buttery toast. All Clarke could smell was coffee, and when she rounded the corner, she saw Wells sitting at the counter with a mug in between his hands, and next to him was another mug along with a bowl.

Clarke made her way over and pulled out the stool and grimaced at the oatmeal with berries sprinkled on top, but Clarke didn’t want Wells to think she didn’t appreciate it, so she picked up the spoon and began to mix it around.

“Where’s the bacon,” Clarke joked, but Wells sipped his coffee with no response. “Okay,” Clarke elongated the o.

“How was your night?” Wells asked, but he wouldn’t look at her.

“Good. I probably drank too much, but what can I do about it now.”

Wells huffed causing Clarke to ask if she had done something wrong because the Wells she had encountered this morning was not her usual happy best friend.

“What are you doing, Clarke?”

“Eating,” she said just as she took a bite of the oatmeal and had to stop herself from gagging from the texture.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She saw in her peripheral Wells shift to face her, but she didn’t look away from her bowl of goo.

“When’s the last time you took your medication?”

Clarke froze.

She had hoped he wouldn’t say anything. She had hoped that he wasn’t talking to her mom, but it seemed like she was hoping for too much because here Wells was questioning her, and in all honestly, it had been days since she took her medication. She had meant to get a refill, but she wasn’t going to say she’s been too lazy to do it, so she went on the defensive.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters! Clarke this is your life.”

“Exactly!” Clarke shouted and dropped her spoon, more like threw her spoon down based on the sound it made as it clinked against the glass bowl. “It’s my life, Wells. Mine! I don’t need you micromanaging me.”

“You do when you aren’t making the right choices. You need someone to make sure you take your medication, to make sure you stop drinking so much, to make sure you’re eating right, to—”

“I don’t need this!” Clarke cut him off. “I’m an adult.”

“Then act like one!” Wells shouted back then stood up from his stool. He circled around the countertop and dumped out the rest of his coffee down before looking up and meeting Clarke’s eyes.

“I just want what’s best for you, and I can’t just sit around and watch you kill yourself.”

Clarke dropped her head. “It’s none of your business,” she whispered.

“But it is. We grew up together, and you’re practically my sister. So, I’m going to set ground rules if you’re going to stay here. Like last night, you coming home drunk like that isn’t going to happen anymore.”

Clarke scoffed and without any words, pushed her bowl away, took a pull of her coffee, and stood up making her way towards the spare bedroom, and started gathering all her belongings into her suitcase that she managed to throw around the room within a day.

“Are you leaving?” She glanced at the door and saw Wells leaning against the doorframe.

“I am.”

“Why? Because I set rules. These rules are meant to help you, to keep you alive. I need you alive, Clarke.”

Clarke shook her head. Rationally, Clarke could understand his reasoning, but that didn’t mean she would rationally think about it. Placing the last of her things in her suitcase, and zipping it closed, she let her eyes settle on Wells.

“I get that you want to look at for me, but you aren’t the fucking boss of me, Wells. So, thanks for letting me stay, but I’ll figure something else out.”

She pushed past him, and if she knocked against his shoulder a little too hard then so be it.

* * *

The first thing Clarke sees when she reaches Vera’s Garden is the broken glass door, and then it was the police officers walking out with Vera trailing behind. When the police officers were out of hearing range, Vera looked at her with a slight head shake and walked inside without sharing any words with Clarke, and Clarke followed after her.

“What did I ask you to do yesterday?” Vera asked. Her back was to Clarke, and it looked like she was taking in the mess that was her shop.

There was soil that littered the floor, and the bags of soil that were stacked in the corner were slashed. Plants were pulled from their pots and thrown around the shop. The cash register looked like it was pried open.

The shop was destroyed.

When Clarke didn’t answer, Vera turned around. She looked around her shop before looking at Clarke.

“You were supposed to lock up, and you didn’t. I had to break my own window and lie to the police to make sure the insurance will cover it.”

Vera walked to the back, and Clarke let her mistake settle in. She had been worried about being on time for her interview that locking up skipped over her head. She didn’t want to waste the extra minutes that were needed to ensure the alarm was set and the front door was secure, but now as she was looking around Vera’s shop, the one thing to bring her boss happiness, it’s dawning on her how massively she fucked up.

She heard footsteps and whirled around to see Vera walking back in with a broom.

“Do you remember when you first came in?” Vera asked. Her back was to Clarke as she started to sweep a small section of the shop. “I saw so much of myself in you. You were young and full of hope and just needed someone to give you a break, so I gave you a job, and you were good. You said you didn’t know anything about plants, but I’d hear you talk to them, even sing to them. You were even better with the people that came in. I know you have had personal problems, and I gave you as much time as you needed, but it’s like you stopped caring. You came back, and you weren’t you anymore.”

Vera made a small pile out of the soil she’s swept up and turned to Clarke. “Despite this, I’m going to give you a second chance. But right now, I’m going to need you to leave and get a handle on your life. It’s going to be a couple of days before we’re going to be up and running.”

“I can stay and help clean,” Clarke insisted. She even took a step towards the backroom to get cleaning supplies, but Vera held out her hand to stop Clarke.

“My son is coming. It’s the only good thing to come out of this.”

Clarke had briefly remembered Vera mentioning an estranged son throughout the time Clarke has worked here, but Clarke always noted the pain in Vera’s voice, so she never pushed. In the same way Vera never pushed about the time she requested off.

“So, thank you, but no thank you. I’ll call you when we open back up.”

Vera turned her back to Clarke before Clarke could apologize. Now, that Clarke thought about it, she doesn’t think she ever did, but it felt too late for that, so with her head hanging low, Clarke walked out tugging her suitcase with her.

* * *

Clarke spent hours roaming the city. Without work, without any interviews, without a place to be, without a place to live, there was nothing, and Clarke never realized how much she relied on something as mundane as working at a garden shop to fill something in her life. This was also the moment that she realized that maybe things needed to change.

It was sitting outside on a bench in the park across the street from the city’s youth center that Clarke sees Octavia, or maybe Octavia saw her first since Clarke only noticed her when she slid into the open space.

“Hey,” Octavia said.

“Hey?” Clarke mocked. “Where the hell were you yesterday? You promised me a pity party, and you never showed.”

“I know, I know. Something came up. I’m sorry. But did you have your pity party?”

“You can say that,” Clarke said under her breath.

“It seems to be continuing. You wanna talk about it?”

Clarke threw her head back. Even after hours, she still felt like shit. She still couldn’t believe Vera thought she was worthy of a second chance, but Vera and life apparently thought she was.

She was still looking for the reason that made her worthy.

“Let’s just say it hasn’t been a good day. I really let down someone who believed in me.”

“You’ll find a way to make it up to them I’m sure. Since I’ve found you, do you have anything planned right this second?”

Clarke thought about telling her to fuck off because of last night, but after today, she could use a distraction, so Clarke told Octavia her day was open, and when the brunette got up and started across the street, Clarke hurried to catch up.

Octavia led her into the youth center. It was the first time Clarke had been inside. It was bigger than the outside showed it to be. As soon as they walked in, there was a lounge area with couches. There were rooms that circled the opened area and could be seen into through the glass windows. There was a gym in the far back, and every time the door opened, the sound of balls bouncing vibrated through the room before disappearing behind the doors falling shut.

Clarke was too busy taking everything in that when Octavia told her she’d be right back there was no time for Clarke to ask where she was going.

There was a table in the back right corner that Clarke gravitated towards, and Clarke knew why. As she got closer, she could really see the kids hunched over in their seats with coloring pencils and pastels in the middle of the table. The rolling of her wheels must have caught the attention of some of the kids because a few of them looked over in her directions and stared for a moment before turning back to their work. Clarke stopped by one of them. Her suitcase bumped the table and the young girl looked up at her and scowled a little before returning to her drawing, but she didn’t touch her pencil to paper.

Clarke watched as the young girl leaned back in her seat and sighed in frustration, and Clarke couldn’t help herself. She squatted down and looked over the young girl’s drawing. She wasn’t sure how old the girl was, but Clarke was impressed. It was a picture of a girl that looked like she was trying to break free from the piece of paper, at least that’s what Clarke thought until she saw the girl’s eyes in the drawing. Because it was through the eyes that Clarke saw fear, sadness, loneliness, that showed maybe the girl was trying to hide.

“If you add more shading here,” Clarke pointed to a place on the paper, “and here,” she pointed to another place, “it’ll add more dimension.”

The girl must have agreed because after a moment, she began shading in the places Clarke suggested, and Clarke watched as she worked, watched as the girl got lost in another world. It was only when another kid across the table called out an “excuse me” that Clarke looked away. The young boy wanted Clarke to look at his drawing and asked if there was anything she suggested, and soon other kids were also asking for her opinion.

After she helped those who wanted her help, she circled back to the first girl she helped.

“Thanks,” she said before Clarke could say anything, and Clarke nodded. “What’s up with the suitcase?” she asked.

Clarke had forgotten how straightforward younger kids could be. She couldn’t very well be honest with someone who was maybe ten years old and say she didn’t have a place she considered home, or that she had to find a place to sleep every night and therefore didn’t have a place to leave her things.

So, she said, “I like to keep my things close.”

The girl shrugged like she accepted Clarke’s answer, and that was it. Clarke was going to circle the table again when she felt someone tap her shoulder.

“Can I speak with you for a second?” the woman asked and nudged her head away from the table.

“My name’s Indra, and I run this place. I was watching you with you kids. You’re good. Madi doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“Madi?” Clarke questioned, and Indra pointed to the young girl Clarke made the first suggestion to.

“She mostly keeps to herself. There are a few people she talks to, but if they aren’t around, she’s quiet and won’t speak to anyone. And Ethan over there,” Indra points to the boy she also helped, “would rather struggle than ask for help. I’m not sure what you did, but I was wondering if you would like to come in once or twice a week and do what you were just doing.”

“I, I don’t know. I think today might have just been a fluke.”

“Maybe, but why don’t you come back and see if it was. I’m sure the kids would be happy to have you back,” Indra said, but she was looking over Clarke’s shoulder.

“I know I would be,” Madi said as she stood next to Indra.

Clarke looked between the two and them and without thinking she held out her hand.

“I’m Clarke,” she said. Indra shook her hand first and then Madi. “I thought it was only right that you know my name.”

“Can you come back to the table? I think I got the shading right, but I want to know what you think.”

Clarke looked at Indra to know if it was okay, and when she nodded, Madi took a step before looking over her shoulder at Clarke. Clarke assumed making sure she followed, so when Madi took another step, Clarke didn’t hesitate to follow.

* * *

Clarke spent hours with the kids, Madi specifically. It started with watching them work on their art, and then Madi insisted on seeing what Clarke could draw, and this led to her drawing caricature pictures of the kids. Madi was the first to ask, followed by Ethan and a teenager named Aden, then she had a line of kids from the center asking if she could draw them.

It was the freest Clarke has felt within her art in months, quite possibly the last year, and what made it better was each of their faces when Clarke tore the drawing from her sketchpad and handed it to them. She forgot the joy her art could bring, and the joy that brought her in return.

It was also when she was putting her sketchpad away that she realized that Octavia never came to find her. This was the second time that her new friend had ditched her, yet this time she couldn’t be mad. This time, instead of getting losing herself in beer and shots of cheap tequila, she made kids smile and laugh when they saw themselves as cartoon characters.

“Clarke?”

Someone called out making Clarke stop packing up her things. She looked up and saw someone vaguely familiar watching her.

“Hi,” she said. “Do I—” Clarke stopped herself, remembering. “You walked me home last night?” She said it like a question because she wasn’t entirely sure, but he nodded.

“Yeah. Bellamy. I’m not sure if you remembered.”

“I do.”

“Is this your first day volunteering? I’ve never seen you here, and Indra is usually wary of strangers.”

“I came in with a friend, and she disappeared on me, and the next thing I know I’m helping some of the kids with their art.”

“And drawing them,” Bellamy added, and Clarke tilted her head quizzically, “I was watching you.” He shook his head, “not like that, but like I said Indra is wary of strangers. The only reason she’s okay with me because my sister vouched for me before,” the sentence died off, and Clarke wasn’t one to push, not when she saw the faraway look that overcame Bellamy’s eyes and his body going slightly rigid. He shifted on his feet, and Clarke knew he was uncomfortable.

She finished packing up her art supplies, shouldering her tote bag, and grabbing the handle to her suitcase before giving her full attention back to face Bellamy, and seeing his tense stature, she blurts the first thing that comes to mind.

“Do you wanna get dinner?”

“What?”

“There was a pizza place down the street. I was going to grab a slice or two and probably sit on another curb while I eat.”

Bellamy smirked, and Clarke wondered if he thought about last night too.

“Sure, why not.”

The pair had ordered their slices of pizza—Clarke just regular pepperoni, and Bellamy Hawaii style that Clarke made a point to make a face at. However, instead of sitting on a curb, Bellamy had led them to a bench near the one that Octavia had found her sitting earlier in the day. It was a little hidden from the street, and with the sun setting, Clarke was beginning to feel the chill in the air.

“So, I have to ask. Why do you have a suitcase with you?” Bellamy asked just as Clarke sunk her teeth in her pizza.

She chewed, and once most of the food in her mouth was gone, she used her hand to cover her mouth and began to speak.

“It’s complicated, and I know that sounds like a copout, but can you just accept that answer please?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Clarke nodded in appreciation, and Bellamy nodded back before taking his own bite of his pizza.

This was only the second time Clarke was with Bellamy, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable, not even when they just sat there not saying anything. The silence was companionable, and something Clarke hadn’t had since her dad died. They would be able to sit together for hours and not say anything—Clarke would draw, and her dad would read, and when either one of them wanted to share something with the other, it would be a few words that were exchanged between them before the silence returned.

It felt like that with Bellamy.

There was a need to fill the silence. If anything, she welcomed it.

There were a few butterflies that captured Clarke’s attention. They seemed to circle her and Bellamy before landing on a tree nearby, and when she looked at Bellamy, he was already staring at where the butterflies had rested.

“Did you know this park is a butterfly sanctuary?”

“I didn’t.”

“Neither did I until my sister told me about it and then showed me. She said it was her safe place,” he said, and there it was again. At the mention of his sister, his posture stiffened, and a somber cloud shrouded him.

It took him a minute to compose himself and change the subject.

“So, I have to ask. Are you always so cynical?”

Clarke tore a piece of her pizza off and avoided eye contact. “I wasn’t always. It’s just,” she stopped herself.

“Complicated?” Bellamy guessed, and Clarke shrugged.

“Not really. I mean, yes, but I feel like I make it more complicated, at least that’s what my mom says, but I don’t think she is capable of understanding or anyone really.”

“Why don’t you try me?”

Clarke finally looked at him. Her blue eyes met his brown eyes, and for the first time in a while, Clarke found herself being memorized by a pair of eyes, like no matter what he said, she’d do, or wherever he wanted to go, she’d follow.

It scared her, so she shook her head and snapped her head away.

“Maybe another time.”

“There’s gonna be another time?” 

There was bewilderment in his voice mixed with a bit of awe, and Clarke couldn’t stop herself from looking over at him, and there was a smirk pulling on his lips, and Clarke let the smile spread across her own.

“Maybe. Although, I could have sworn you wanted nothing to do with me based on last night.”

He sighed and ran his clean hand through his hair, stopping behind his neck to rub it.

“I don’t like to go out, especially not to Wonkru, and on top of that I had just gotten bad news from work, and I might have taken it out on you. So, I do apologize for that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been told my stubbornness is at an all time extreme when I’m drunk.”

He laughed and held up his pinched fingers. “Just a little bit.”

It was coming to the time of the day where the sun had set, but there was still a tinge of light in the sky. The street lights were beginning to turn on, and Clarke was beginning to think about the fact she had no place to sleep. She could try to meet up with someone, call someone from her contacts to get good sex and a bed for the night, but she was second guessing her way of living. Maybe tomorrow, but right now, it wasn’t something she wanted

“Can I ask kind of a big favor?”

“Depends.”

“Do you think you might be able to give me a ride? I’d walk, but—”

“I can drive you,” he said before Clarke can explain. “If you’re done, we should probably get going since it’s getting a little late.”

Clarke followed his lead when he threw away his trash and started to walk towards his car. And, again, there was silence, but Clarke hadn’t minded it. It was only when he stopped in front of his car that she froze.

She had avoided getting into any cars for the past year, and it has been one of the biggest inconveniences of her life. It’s why she tries to stay within the city. Everything is walking distance, for someone who didn’t mind walking miles on miles a day, but her mom chose to live twenty minutes outside the city, by car, so there was no way she was going to be making that walk tonight. 

“Are you okay?”

Clarke exhaled deeply and shook her head. “It’s been a while. I, I don’t…you know what? Nevermind. I’ll, I’ll figure something else out.”

She turned to walk away, but Bellamy wrapped his hand around her wrist, stopping her.

Clarke always thought it was bullshit in movies when people talk about feeling electricity when someone touches them, feeling like they are being grounded, feeling like the world stops for a nanosecond, just feeling these intense feelings that don’t exist outside an imaginary world. So, how the hell was Clarke feeling all of those things now with Bellamy’s warm hand holding her wrist and staring into her eyes?

It didn’t make any damn sense. Did he touch her last night? Did she feel like or had the alcohol numb some of her senses?

“I promise I’m a safe driver. My friends even make fun of me because they say I drive like a grandpa and apparently it goes along with my personality.”

“You promise you’ll be safe?”

“I promise.” He squeezes her wrist with his words before letting go, and Clarke wishes he hadn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'll have the second part up by the end of the weekend!  
> Comments and kudos make my day!


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